Strawberry Gashes
by xYelloww
Summary: Nothing happy 'n go lucky for the students who came back for a repeat of their seventh year because, couldn't they, the wise adults, see, that even if the war was fought they, the youngsters, were still fighting? Or, how Harry was killed by Voldermort eventhough Harry had already killed him. (Trigger)Warning: selfdestruction, drugs. A brief mention of slash.
1. Chapter 1

Harry is tired. Mentally and physically exhausted. He barely eats and sleeps even less. When he does sleep, he has heavy nightmares. The nightmares though, aren't restricted to when his eyes are closed. The cruelly he sees at night follow him into the light. Throughout the days he keeps seeing the worst and everywhere he looks those awful red eyes are in sight. His own eyes, never unseeing and his body always feeling the pain - it's horrible and Harry does not know what to do when his sight is always blurred with the edge of red.

He walks through the halls of Hogwarts as a zombie. Dragging forth his body even if it protests, screams at him for a moment of peace but he can't sit, can't relax. He must walk, can't stay in one place. He must move - go somewhere, anywhere in the hope to shake the feeling of being hunted. Alas, he isn't hunted. Not anymore. No, he's haunted. Haunted by his own ghosts of evil and guilt. It's damnation.

He always has the Marauders Map at the ready- rounding another corner, walking another mile, running past classes and from the lights into the shadows - nowhere to hide, yet, he keeps going all the while wondering; trying and failing to understand why he is here. Here at Hogwarts when he could be anywhere else, searching for that one place he might feel safe and secure, already knowing he can't find it in the castle. Or maybe he can, maybe he hasn't searched well enough. Still. He doesn't get why he is here or maybe he does. It was all because the school board decided they, seventh years who didn't graduate, must be back - were forced back to complete their schooling and find a place in life.

It doesn't mean he wants too though. It's just to unnatural to be forced and then expected to life happily, cheerfully, smile and go trough the school routine as if they didn't just fought a war. As if they hadn't buried people they knew and cared about. If they hadn't seen the things war brought. They couldn't expect just because they took the child out of war, the war would be out of the child - Except they did. They just made them do, without a hand of help and expected them to succeeded in being a happy teenager who kindly went to lessons and made their homework. Twisted.

How could they? Harry, again – never stopping, always on the move rounded another corner, went trough a door and ran up the many stairs. Couldn't they see? How did they not know they needed time and a soft helping hand? Did they have no feels, couldn't they see that what the ordered them to be was impossible? Unbelievable?

Many a times Harry asked himself these questions. Maybe they all asked the same things or maybe they all had a slightly different answer, he just was at a loss and failed to understand. He needed to understand. Even now, as he sat down on the ledge of the Astronomy tower, legs dropped over the edge swinging back and forth. Every once in a while Harry shook his head to try and rid the feeling of being watched and forcing himself to stay put and not plummet himself into the touching nothingness, miles and miles down to the ground.

Couldn't or wouldn't they see the pain within them?

Like, how Hermione was throwing herself on her books as if there was nothing left in the world? All she did was studying, learning and then reading some more way past midnight by the lights of a small candle until she fell asleep, using her latest read as a pillow. How she woke up, barely hours later with a cry, brushing her un-kept curls out of her blurry face, the lines of the pages pressed red in her skin and immediately went back, straight to there where she had left off?

Couldn't they see how Ron's bloodshot, puffy eyes never looked at anybody anymore? How he grew thinner as time went by just because he had no appetite? He blamed himself over many deaths and of course obvious one, his brother, mourning the losses every waking moment.

Couldn't they see, how could not one teacher see that Seamus clenched his quill to tightly, snapped several per class and cursed without sound every time his eyes fell to Dean's empty seat?

Their classes had too many empty seats. Some were empty for a while, because their owners where still stuck for a long term stay at St. Mungo's and some chairs would stay empty because those students stayed a couple floors above the long term stayers. They were there for a life long, to never be released. Some were empty because their owners weren't coming back, gone for ever. Like Dean. The dark skinned boy wouldn't come back, ever, and Seamus couldn't cooperate with it.

Everybody looked at one or another chair differently, like Millicent Bulstrode who couldn't keep her hopeful, longing eyes of the empty chair beside her - Pansy Parkinsons' seat. The girl who's still in St. Mungo's, undergoing long term recovery, if they could call it that. The staff was still trying to stop and counter the crushing curse that's trying to turn her inside out.

She was just rooms away from Zacharias Smith, he's being hit, time and time again with face reconstruction and healing spells to undo the damage done by a nameless low ranked Death Eater who left the boy upside down for dead in the mud - his face blown away - the sight of an erupting crater a more pleasant sight.

They, Harry knew, were just the few of many, going over it by the top of his head. Yet, the greatest examples of the elder generations ignoring, letting them fend for themselves and not acknowledging what was really going on came from themselves.

The new Defense teacher was an idiot. The man didn't understand why the whole class fought up a riot when he stood to his point that werewolves were harmless creatures and people just like the rest outside the full moon.

Of course they knew that. They all knew Remus Lupin and what a lovely man he had been but those rational thoughts fell in an empty void when they had been eyewitnesses to Fenrir Greybacks' brutal slaughtering. They stood mere meters away, watching how he mercilessly clawed, ripped Lavender Brown apart. He had left her in pieces and smiled - Smiled while her blood was dripping off his face and winked, running up and towards his next victim and nobody, not even the three Aurors that engaged in fight with him could stop the beast.

The same happened during Potions. The teacher decided to introduce them to the newest study objects within the ministry and gave note of wanting a discussing about it. The man hit home with a sucker punch to the gut when the potion in question turned out to be a liquefied form of the Cruciatus curse. They all, one by one, had seen the unforgivables, all three, but even with the numerous horrible and painful spells the Death Eaters used they all had personal experiences with the curse the teacher spoke of, mentioning it as if they barely knew what it did. As one, they stood and left the class room - only to be tapped on the fingers later.

Just suck it up and do your detention and please do, do listen to your teacher. Do as he says, follow your lessons and be good little students. Harry couldn't believe his ears when that was what they were basically told. The headmistress may have said it differently, but, that was what she meant. He knew it.

And Harry sat there, atop of the tower thinking that moment over and he was so angry, felt so helpless. He was wobbling his legs back and forth and screamed. He screamed from the top of his lungs into the dark night "Why are they looking at us with blind eyes?!"


	2. Chapter 2

As the weeks went by and the clock slowly ticked time away, Harry started or rather, fell in a pattern where he started to care less and less. In a steady pace, following the ticks, he became less attached - to people, to rhythm, to reality. He became more and more withdrawn from the works of life around him. Slowly but surely he became shallow, a shell of his former self. He lost himself, locked up in the depth's of his own mind where the gruel, the horror and pain stood up front. The longer he went like this, the further he got until there was nothing of him left. Paranoia. Just a broken boy, running, hiding and hurting.

He never noticed how the students around them picked up their own broken pieces and put themselves back together, not with the aid of the elders but of their own. Those of their own age who lived trough the same horror as they did. One small step followed by another they had gotten themselves healing, growing stronger, better and were ready to let go.

Harry wasn't. Ultimately, he was one of the very few stuck in the downward spiral he build and couldn't get out of. Some noticed, others not but he didn't accept the outstretched hands. Harry never bothered to acknowledge, never gave himself the time to watch, see, heal and Hermione reasoned that may be why he pulled closer to his once schoolyard enemy. The other broken boy in their year who couldn't seem to care, to have the will to become better.

She tried to reason Harry, bring him back to reality, but she failed because she had yelled and cried, called the friendship between the two boys a toxic tryst that was pulling them further down. Harry had ripped away - telling her that it wasn't true and made way, leaving her behind, standing alone.

Everything had shattered. Fast.

Hermione watched from afar as she saw how her friend broke further and no matter her trying to right the wrongs, she wasn't reaching trough and neither was Ron. In the end, they gave up. Almost. They still tried to keep watching his back as they found solace in each other.

Hermione and Ron though, didn't know everything because Harry and Draco Malfoy both had found their own way to cooperate with their demons. They edged each other on, sharing glances throughout the day until one or the other disappeared and late at night, when the eight years' common room was empty, they sat together; one or the other giving a knowing glance and a wicked smile came in an answer that said it all - I know what you did. There were well-aimed stares under the yellow glow of the flames of the fireplace. It being another wordless dare, another challenge. One would break under the pressure of the other, then, a kiss and they each vanished once again - going to their own hide-out in the castle and to their own created special little place of hell in their minds, each well on their road to the end.

In a twisted way, it put them at ease. Those stolen moments gave them rest, a safe haven. A place in a life they no longer wanted. Destroyed and broken, this is what they chose.

"I won't be be just my own demon, but, yours too, Dear."

Then, one day, Harry stumbled into the first floor girls lavatory. Once, the place had been haunted by Moaning Myrtle. She had passed over because she numbly followed the old History teacher Mr. Binns when he left the earth realm. Not for the first time, Harry wished Peeves had followed as well. The poltergeist still an annoying presence in the castle.

And now, he stumbled into her place after being chased by the pest. There, he saw Draco Malfoy. He caught the blonde in the act he had edged him onto doing so often and he smiled. The former junior Death Eater looked lovely in Harrys' opinion.

The blonde sat on his outstretched robe on the floor, back against the wall. Ironically so, he had chosen to sit underneath the very sink that let to the Chamber of Secrets - the chamber of doom and death as Harry had dubbed it in his mind and Harry agreed when his mind supplied Draco looked like shit. He looked awful but still so lovely - beautifully, sitting there, carefully laying out the toys that would bring him his high.

His skin too pale, a greyish hue, his hair falling into his eyes and his normally clean and pressed school uniform was rumpled and saggy on his way too skinny form.

Glancing up, Harry caught his own image in the mirror and chuckled lightly. He didn't look that different from the other. He looked like he had gone to hell and back but he knew, felt he was still trapped there. Suddenly everything was too much and when Draco heard the sound, he scrambled to get his stuff out of sight but Harry shook his head, his toneless voice stopped him. "Don't bother."

Harry stepped in, tapping the door closed with his foot and dropped his bag beside Draco. He removed his robe, his tie and peeled the buttons of his shirt open. He let himself fall down and scooted close to the other.

Draco smirked and pecked Harry on the cheek. One understanding look passed between them and the blond continued his business while Harry pulled his bag into his lap and rummaged through it - digging up the knife, Harry's eyes shined and he twirled it happily between his fingers - slowly, he turned his attention back on his companion. Draco was carefully turning a potion bottle above a small flame, letting it warm up evenly.

Harry bit his lip and tapped his knee against Draco's and he tore his gaze away to lock it with Harry. With practiced ease, Draco pulled up his sleeve, the dark mark came in sight but neither looked at it, preferring to stare at each other. In silence, Draco wrapped a well used leather strap over his upper arm, and tore it, tight, successfully pinching of the blood flow. He raised the potion bottle and held it, ready to tip over above the crook of his elbow where the skin was already littered with little black points and faint blue veins. He raised a daring eyebrow at Harry.

Harry grinned, pressed himself just that tad bit tighter to the other and a simple swish with the shiny, sharp metal had him ripping through the fabric of his pants - leaving his upper thighs naked he skill fully twirled the knife between his fingers once and settled the blade against the already marred and scratched skin.

As if they counted off, they simultaneously moved. Draco dropped the potion and Harry swished the blade.

Euphoria. That was the word for how they felt.

Within seconds, Draco slumped, muscles giving in - his breath grew shallow and his heartbeat slowed greatly. The thing, his heart - although he was of the thought he didn't quite own one, the heartless bastard he was - it thumped in his chest just sluggishly pumping the blood through his veins. It was dangerously slow but he felt great. A smile was upon his face, showing just how much he was enjoying the feeling as his unsteady eyes tried to focus back on Harry, who in a rapid pace slashed numerous little cuts, relishing in his own hurt and the blood red colour finally real and there to touch - not just the unreal splash tugging at the corners of his eyes all the time as a bloody curse.

He started lightly when Draco dropped his head on his shoulder but he didn't move away, instead he leaned his own head atop of the blond and swished the blade again and again - never quite enough, never deep enough but it worked. Sort off. If only it could be more.

Dizzily, almost happily - Harry looked away from the blade he had let go off and caught the sight of Draco's arm. Fresh teeny, tiny puncture holes in grey skin, veins popping up, surrounding the dark mark and Harrys' finger glided gently over them.

He mumbled something but Draco, couldn't quite follow, didn't quite hear, brain dotted with confusion. "What did you say?" He asked softly, slow and slurred speech and out of breath but Harry could follow perfectly.

"Strawberry gashes." Harry said again and Draco sat up with difficulty so he could nod his agreement. Now that he sat up, he overlooked Harry and his eyes found the knife. He took it and pulled at Harrys' clothes until he had the bare shoulder in sight. Draco nicked the skin. Carefully he caught a bead of blood with the tip of his finger as it made its way out and held it up for Harry too see. "Strawberry gashes." He grinned and licked his finger clean, he slumped back down again, finding his spot against Harrys' side without difficulty and gave the knife back at him.

Harry took it, slashed open his sleeve from his unmarred shoulder down to a heavily scarred wrist, during that he also sliced trough his skin. A mere decoration, to serve for fascinated eyes that followed the flow because he needed just that tad more. As the blood pooled down, he lifted his hand to thumb Draco's cheek. "Do you think, we'll ever be alright?"

Draco blinked once, twice and pulled all his energy together to sit up - cupping Harry's chin and forcing them to look straight at each other. "No." He answered and pressed forward, making their lips meet in a soft kiss. A kiss he didn't need, his high prevented such feelings – any feelings, but knew it was one that the other asked for without saying it. A kiss desperately wanted.

* * *

Two days long she had been searching. Two days of worry and in the one moment she wasn't actually searching but merely wanted to use the loo - she found them.

There, under the sink she hadn't seen or thought about for so long, they were crammed underneath it.

Draco was still leaning with his back against the wall, his right leg curled around the boy who had made himself comfortable in his lap. Sitting sideways, Harry's legs were crossed and his feet lay on top of his bag - his shoulder was pressed between Draco's left arm and chest. Harry had his face buried in the crook of Draco's neck and his left hand, lying in his lap faced up innocently, the right one was slung around Draco's neck, in a tight embrace.

Draco's left leg, pulled up to have his knee pressed into Harry's back, served as a point to lean his elbow on - his fingers wounded between the messy locks of Harry's hair. His other hand lay just beside Harry's and the pretty knife with crusted blood still on it was still firm in his grip.

The blond had his eyes closed and to Hermione they looked oddly slumped together. Sagged bonelessly.

Maybe asleep - she prayed silently to Merlin, all the gods she could think of and even the devil that for the love of magic they were asleep but she had eyes; she saw Harry's ripped clothes, the blood that had, at one point, gushed but was now dried up and crusted up over his legs, arms, neck and back. It was Harry's blood that coloured the other boy in several places.

She saw the potion bottle that must have slipped out of Harry's hand, it still balancing between three points; Draco's body, the other's hand nestled there and the wall.

She pushed the door further open and called out in the dim lit room. "Harry?" And inched closer. "Draco?"

Coming closer, it was when it hit her. The fresh gush of air in the room made another smell dwell up. A smell that tore through her senses, dragging up that what she had been so vainly trying to forget but the smell, of dusty copper, dirt and human waste was all too clear. It was the smell of death. Something she had wished to never reek again, ever.

Still, trying and hoping she was wrong, she took another step and called out again, utter fear evident in her voice but she got no confirmation from either boy. Crouching down, she reached out a shaky hand and gently touched Harry's cheek. She slinked back, falling on her bum and her whole body shook, eyes welling up. He was ice cold.

Even if Harry had killed Voldemort, Voldemort had still killed him – the both of them, and she screamed.

Loud.


End file.
